


Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer

by lackofcompromise



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: All you want in a Minecraft fic, Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Near Death Experiences, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackofcompromise/pseuds/lackofcompromise
Summary: Steve learns a new feeling, vastly different from peace: loneliness. It stings like the sun does, but it doesn't feel warm at all. He decides that he doesn't like it, so he decides to feel something else, but he doesn't know what yet because he doesn't know what else there is to feel. Is there more than peace and loneliness?‘There is more,’ he recognizes, ‘I am more.’So he wants to find more. He needs to find more. More can define itself and more knows what it is. It is someone like him. Realization, understanding, new things to feel other than loneliness. Hope. Determination. He will find more.———An experimental Minecraft fanfic inspired by this one poem I read in school. I'm bad at writing descriptions lol
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/657169) by Margret Atwood. 



_i_

_He stood, a point_

_on a sheet of green paper proclaiming himself the centre_

_with no walls, no borders anywhere; the sky no height above him, totally un- enclosed_

_and shouted: Let me out!_

* * *

It began with a thought that he could yet not explain, as he had no language to. It was ever-evolving, baseless and unstable, horribly metamorphic. The extension of his senses went further than himself, expanding out to his surroundings until severed. It’s as if his being—his self, if he even had a self—was simultaneously created and destroyed, ripped apart and shattered before collecting itself and mending the pieces. It was nothing, but nothing felt like everything. Existing yet not existing. Agonizing numbness. Falling in and out of consciousness. It was violent, relentless, divine and magnificent.

It was maddening. Then, _it_ was something.

It manifested into the blades of grass cushioning his body; the cool breeze that swayed them in the wind; the blinding yet welcoming sunlight that warmed his skin and made it unpleasant for him to open his eyes. He didn't understand how he knew what these things were, and he didn't question it either. He felt at peace, and he finally understood what peace felt like.

This—

This was creation.

He shielded his eyes with one hand, blinking until he got adjusted to the light. The outline of this extremity was as new to him as it was strange. He took time to observe all the creases and folds of his own hands, learning to understand that they were his own. He experimented with the way his fingers bent, and how far they could extend. These were his hands, as he knew they were called, and he was in control of them.

His attention shifted to beyond his body, moving his hands out of the way and squinting at the harsh sun. For the first time, he saw a relentless and unending canvas expand all around—the _sky_ , he told himself; the _sky_ was vast, and the _sun_ was mean. It stung in his eyes but it felt warm, but the _sky_ was just there, looming above, motionless.

He himself could move however, and he did. It came natural to him, shifting his weight until he stood up on his own two feet, scrunching up his toes into the dirt. His vision followed the grass below himself until he saw it surrounded him in almost all directions. The words, names, came to him as he thought of them; _trees_ bunched up together, forming a _forest_. A patch of _flowers_ , all of various colors and shapes. The _clouds_ that hide away the _sun_ for a moment before floating away. Everything was new yet strangely familiar, he noted, as if he had seen them before—but he had just learned what _seeing_ was, so how could he. He doesn't think about it, and so he continues to explore the world around him from where he is. _Water_ , he sees, in the form of a _river_ not so far off in the distance. _Mountains_ even further beyond.

He sees so much, so many things, and he gifts each one with a title, an identifier. He knows what each of them are, and he decides that he likes each one of them.

He doesn't know what to call himself, though, because he doesn't know what he is, so he closes his eyes and thinks very hard of what he is. The only word he is able to think of is _me_ , but he doesn't know what it means. Is _me_ his hands and every one of its creases and folds? Is it the way his fingers bend and how far they can extend? Or how his toes dig into the soil below?

No, he assures, there is more to _me_ than what his senses experience. _Me_ is what knows the names of things, what knows how to move his hands and how to stand on his own two legs, what decided he liked everything he saw.

‘ _I_ am _me_ ,’ he announces to himself as he opens his eyes. He likes being _me_ , but he doesn't want to call himself that, so he gifts himself with a name that comes just as natural, and so he is _Steve_.

He is himself. He is Steve, and Steve is _alone_.

It dawns on him abruptly. He sees many things but none of them resemble him. They start to feel foreign— do any of these things know what they are? Can they define themselves? Give themselves the gift that a name is? These things are nothing like him, they don't move and feel, they are not able to be _me_.

Steve learns a new feeling, vastly different from peace: _loneliness_. It stings like the sun does, but it doesn't feel warm at all. He decides that he doesn't like it, so he decides to feel something else, but he doesn't know what yet because he doesn't know what else there is to feel. Is there more than peace and loneliness?

‘There is _more_ ,’ he recognizes, ‘I am _more_.’

So he wants to find _more_. He needs to find _more_. _More_ can define itself and _more_ knows what it is. It is someone like him. _Realization_ , _understanding_ , new things to feel other than loneliness. _Hope_. _Determination_. He will find _more_.

His feet begin to move on their own. He is running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting is a bit strange but that's on purpose. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
